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| Lately we've been having a small problem with our Civic. It runs great, it starts in the morning on my way to work and it starts in the evening leaving work.
But if I stop at the chiropractor's office on the way home, and spend no more than 15 to 20 minutes being twisted back into shape, the car won't start.
The battery is live. There's gasoline. There's nothing else going on.
But it won't start.
There may be a curse on Victory Boulevard that prevents its starting, but I doubt that.
Now Daddynator spent part of the weekend cleaning the air filter (K&N permanent air filters are awesome, but they occasionally need to be cleaned and re-oiled) and re-oiling it, a lengthy process made more lengthy by the weather. He checked connections. He checked spark plugs.
Oops - one of the plugs was gone, so he replaced that and the wire connecting it to the engine. Now the car runs quieter which is a good thing.
So yesterday, I visited our friendly body detwister and walked back to the car, fully anticipating it starting right up after all that checking and tightening and fiddling.
Turned the key.
Nothing.
Turned the key again.
Nothing.
Waited about 15 minutes.
Nothing.
Sigh.
I decided to walk home (I wore my sneakers to work that day). Hey, it was beautiful, everything's blooming, I'd be walking through the park which has interesting birds and animals. Not a problem.
I start walking home, and DiscoStu happened to be coming out of HIS visit to the detwister. Alrighty!
He checks the same things. Tightens, fiddles, etc.
Nothing.
So to get me home, he hotwired the car through the starter. How awesome is that! What a wonderful skill to possess (only for righteous purposes, of course)! Shows you how bland life is sometimes that such a silly thing can make one almost swoon with delight. I almost want to be stranded so I can try it, but I think I'll demur and have DiscoStu repair or clean whatever it is that he thinks is preventing the signal from the key cylinder going to the starter to get the car going.
But it's a little bit of knowledge that may come in handy another day.
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And this week I'm pretty much alone in the sleep lab as it is spring break for public schools and my manager took a week's vacation to play with her children. Our administrator is also temporarily doing about 12 other jobs and is at the other hospital site all the time, so there I am.
And today is the first night of the week that we have patients, and it's time to confirm that they're showing up.
Patient #1. Fine.
Patient #2. Fine.
Patient #3. Fine.
Patient #4. Well, this is a 3-year-old boy who probably needs his tonsils out, and part of the required protocol now is that children must have a sleep study prior to any surgery.
So I'm talking to the Mom and she says she's cancelling the appointment.
Why?
Well, I wanted to get him ready for the sleep study and I was putting scotch tape on his head so he could get used to stuff on his head.
*silence*
*more silence*
Uh, you realize that we don't use tape - we use an electroconductive paste that softens with warm water and doesn't pull the hair? And besides, our technicians have dealt with upset children, and worse comes to worse, they'll wait until the kid is asleep to place all the leads?
*silence*
Doesn't matter, I'm cancelling the appointment.
Okay. Call us when you're ready to reschedule.
She slams the phone.
I called and left a message for the doctor.
I guess this poor kid isn't getting his tonsils out any time soon.
And I've been shaking my head and muttering all day at the seeming silliness of some parents who make a potentially anxious situation worse with their ignorance.
Oh well.
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| Had to take car service to work today. Daddynator was putting the garbage can out yesterday and left the radio on in the Buick because there were two songs back-to-back that he liked and he forgot he had the radio on, shut the door. Dead battery in the middle of the driveway. Sigh. I think he's really really really really tired. Needs a vacation in the worst way. We'll probably need a new battery. This one's really old, so maybe it's not a bad idea anyway. Just not what I wanted to spend more money on right this minute what with paying all the tax leeches (Feds, NYS, NJ). Today has been one hell of a day. From the patients who NEVER answer the question you ask and get all pissy because you keep asking the same question and they want to tell you another story that does not answer the question. To spending over THREE HOURS on the phone with a certain medical large medical practice on Staten Island, trying to get insurances, orders and signatures on orders. And being informed that one of the ordering physicians abruptly left the practice and therefore, the order is useless and there is no insurance referral on file and having to tell the patient we have to cancel him until he can see the doctor who took over the practice. To the hysterical mother who was INSISTING on MAKING AN APPOINTMENT for her daughter even though we hadn't gotten the doctor's order yet (rules is rules), and threatening to report us all for following the rules that our accreditation body requires for everyone's safety, claiming we were endangering her PRECIOUS CHILD (stop overfeeding the kid, lady). To the grandfather who wanted to talk about anything and everything under the sun - he's obviously the custodial parent to four girls, God help him. And now a patient is sitting at the worst doctor's office in the world and just called to make an appointment. He said he was going to wait for them to fax us. He might as well take up residence because the day this office ever gets its stuff together enough to fill out an order for a sleep study, let alone fax it, Jesus will come out of the clouds to take us home. Is it a full moon? Because I'll be darned to understand why today of all days all the looneys have come out of the woodwork, and all the doctor offices have hidden like termites. Anyway, That's been my day. Woohoo. Hope yours has been better. | | |
| We're all broken, you know.
We were born that way, and we continue that way.
We develop various and sundry coping mechanisms, oddities, neuroses and other things just to get through life with what seems like minimal damage. But sometimes our coping strategies only damage us more. Not only do they damage us, but they damage other people and our relationships.
Our brokenness has certainly done a number on our relationship with God. It's hard to be honest with Him and harder to be honest with ourselves about it all.
It has been said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again thinking the outcome will be the same. By that measure, yes we're all nuts.
This has been hitting home lately. We've bought the first three seasons of Monk, a TV show on cable (we don't have cable or satellite) that eldest daughter used to watch when she lived abroad in Queens. She loved it and so got us into it.
Monk, in case you don't know, is a private detective who used to be a police detective. He was always odd and obsessive, but he left his rails completely after the murder of his wife by persons unknown whom she was investigating. Because he had good friends and a very good therapist, he came out of his catatonia and brilliantly solves crimes because he notices details others don't - mostly involving his particular obsessions. His life is made difficult because of his obsessions - dirt, germs, Nature, disorder. And the three seasons we've watched so far show us how he copes (or doesn't) when confronted with what he cannot bear, but must, for the sake of people he loves.
It seems to me that we are all Monk. We've all had sorrow, tragedy, disappointment - whether self inflicted or not - that has warped us in one way or another. Genetics adds to the mix as does our own parents' peculiar mixes of brokenness.
What makes a Christian different? Quite frankly, I don't think we are that different. We don't get to not have sorrow and tragedy and disappointment. We're born broken, raised by broken parents, live with brokenness both of our own making and what exists out there.
What makes a Christian different? The traditional answer is that we can pray and have God's strength and peace imparted to us. But I'm struggling with that. I've been to a very dark place where I felt abandoned and unheard and uncomforted. Deliverance did not come at *snap* that right moment when it seemed deliverance was required. The people who one would think would at least try to understand didn't. I was left with the trembling borne of fear and panic.
Most of the exact situation that precipitated that darkness has come and gone. The overwhelming depression and anxiety are gone. But here I'm left with a continuing distrust of life in general and wondering if I will ever feel close to God ever again (indeed, if I ever felt close and it wasn't my imagination).
There is a part of me that knows God's word is True. It's supposed to be true for me, but it's hard to believe in it. I occasionally see glimpses of the why and wherefore, but they vanish before I can take hold of them so I can think about them and absorb them.
Maybe this is my fault. Maybe not. I just don't know.
So I identify heartily with Monk. I have people who love me. They are as there as they can be for me. I love them dearly and it makes me try to overcome my self. I try not to lie to myself any more. I try to be consistent and faithful in the things that are in front of me. I'm not sure that's enough.
But it's all I've got for now.
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| There's lots of talk of "euthanasia", or good death, meaning people want to put other people out of their supposed misery like they're sick dogs or something, or their "quality of life" life allegedly isn't good enough (according to whom is variable). People talk about assisted suicide, abortion, infanticide, etc., as if life has some perfect ideal for when it's valuable and when it should be discarded like a worn out old pair of shoes that have one too many holes in the heels and toes.
Then there is the true kind of good death.
Like the Daddynator's Aunt Dot. She died last Sunday. She was 90 years old.
She had an inoperable and unradiatable brain tumor.
Before things got to a bad point, she and her husband and decided they wanted no drastic interventions like breathing machines, defibrillators and all the other paraphernalia, equipment and supplies of keeping a body going.
Dot married my father-in-law's eldest brother almost 70 years ago. They had three children and several grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Dot was born into the Catholic faith, but followed her husband in his Baptist expression of Christian faith. She did not set the world on fire, but she was a good and loving wife and mother who kept a lovely home and her family's affection. You never saw her on the front page of any publication or the police lineup for that matter. She wasn't "liberated" in today's terms but she was a happy, joyful and contented woman by her own standards.
She had life's ups and downs and a few heartbreaks along the way like everyone and met them with faith and tears and perserverance.
Her actual death was probably the one everyone should strive for. As the tumor took over more of her brain, she lapsed into a coma. Palliative care was the only intervention, i.e., pain medications, fluids and keeping her body clean and comfortable.
Late Sunday afternoon, she slipped away - out of that old, worn and broken mortal shell - and into her new life. She had her family with her.
And that, as they say, was that. Except for the lifelong influence and impact her "common" life had on the people around her.
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And then there's life.
Today I saw an extremely unusual thing that actually stopped me in my tracks.
Down the hall from the sleep lab, there is an office where what we call the WIC ladies ply their trade. The WIC (Women, Infant & Children) program offers much information and many services to mothers and families who otherwise would languish from lack of knowledge and basic food groups. These women are two of the nicest people I've met. They scold when they have to, but mostly they encourage mothers who would otherwise struggle without a clue where to go for help.
And today . . .
Well, today, I saw a female soldier in cammies with her 6-month old girl baby, who obviously was a lively and lovely child.
I've seen all kinds of mothers and families there, all races, religions and especially ages.
But this female soldier.
She's probably going to be deployed at some point. She's keeping her contract. She's willing to lay down her life for us and our country and our liberty.
But she'll have to leave this beautiful and joyful morsel of life.
What SHOULD be just can't enter into this because this is already what IS.
And it breaks my heart and it definitely will break her heart when she's called to fulfill what she's sworn to do and she has to leave that baby.
And that's life sometimes.
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| It's hard to deal with people who are both scared and feel they must take it out on YOU, because at the moment, you are the one person who they feel is standing in the way of solving a major problem.
That happened to me Friday. A man called to make an appointment. He is a clinic patient, which is soooo not a problem. But the usually extremely conscientious clerk, G, had left off the insurance information which is not like her at all. Whatever, I went through the usual routine of asking lots of personal and invasive questions and we got to the insurance portion of the Spanish Inquisition.
"What insurance do you have?"
"Pending Medicaid."
"Do you have the letter?"
"No."
"Can I call you back? I need to speak with my department head to clear this appointment. I can't make an appointment without some kind of insurance or payment plan in place. If I don't do that, you'll get a bill for over $2000."
"Oh, just send me the bill - I already have over $20,000 in bills and I'll fight with the hospital about it later."
(man has a SERIOUS cardiac condition and was treated on an emergency basis which is why he has this huge bill)
"I understand, sir, but I can't make that decision. I have to call you back."
"Okay."
Now he's all polite and okay and understands the whole thing. So I called G in the clinic and asked her what the deal was with this guy. Apparently it takes two months to get a pending letter from Medicaid. We can accept that as it gives an ID and all that. He had applied only a month ago. G said that she suggested they go upstairs from the clinic office and apply for sliding scale, which would mean that at most, they would pay $50 for a sleep study. Doesn't even cover the cost for me to transcribe a report, but we live in the best country in the world and don't deny people serious and necessary medical care no matter what anyone says.
G said that the wife immediately exploded and said a thing or two about that idea, etc. Great.
I took a deep breath and called my administrator, Mr. D. He's a wonderful person - I really love working with him. He's one of the few true standup guys left in this world. He tells me to discuss sliding scale again because at this point that's his only option.
Alrighty. Deep breath. Getting ready to dial.
The phone rings and it's the patient's wife who immediately is hostile and agitated. Now I'm pretty sure I understand part of it - she's scared for her husband, she's scared for herself and thinks we're being red tapish and bureaucratic for no reason. Well, she's right about the red tape and all that, but it has its reason.
"Yes, ma'am, I just got off the phone with my administrator and we strongly urge you to get a sliding scale letter because for non-emergency (read, non-urgent - the man is ill, but stable) care, we have to have a payment plan in place before we add to your bill."
[extreme sarcasm] Oh, you care about MY bill? [/sarcasm]
"Yes I Do, because I know I wouldn't want to receive that kind of bill if I could have done something to avoid it and I'm sure you're distressed enough about finances without adding to it."
[extreme sarcasm] Well, how long does this letter take to get? [/sarcasm]
"I'm going to put you on hold and find out."
Called G again and she said that she told the wife that all she had to do was go upstairs from the clinic and have proof of income/lack of income and she would get the letter right then and there.
Deep breath.
"I just spoke with G (remember, the clerk you abused?) and she said that all you needed was the following income information and they would issue the letter on the spot."
*crickets*
"Oh. Well, his social worker has all the information."
"Okay. I suggest you call the social worker and have her contact the office that issues those letters. Meanwhile, I will schedule your husband for April 6. The minute you get that letter, call me and if I have a cancellation I will make sure he gets in sooner."
This was repeated a few times as she was still rather hyped up and didn't quite hear what I was saying. And the conversation involved many more words and sentences, many of them dripping with hostility and sarcasm.
I'm not sure what happened, but at the end she suddenly turned sweet and was Honeying me and all that sort of thing. I think maybe because she had a very specific plan to follow in order to achieve what her husband needed without adding to their financial distress. I think it eventually dawned on her that I really was on their side and wanted him to get the test and treatment he sorely needs to survive whatever else he's afflicted with.
Just in case, though, I wrote everything down and forwarded it to my administrator. We'll see what happens.
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The moral to this story is that when you are dealing with a bureaucracy, yes there are total a-holes who will try to obstruct you or don't give a flying foxtrot whether you achieve what you need or not.
But there are many more people who really are trying to do their best for you. There is a time to scream and yell at someone, file complaints, but sometimes it's a good thing to step back and take a deep breath and try to see what's really happening.
Because the person at the other end of the phone or over the country could be ME. And that's all that matters, you know. 
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